sakura petal, leaning on my shoulder,
never seen them before,
praising a mental image,
feeling beautiful for only me.
you are watching fervently, away.
the glow of your voice, though, I can't cast the sound away,
the falling, gently caressing my ears before the landing.

stagnant water, flowing to nowhere,
never could speak, proper words again,
pressing a formal image,
forgetting how I once behaved,
I am watching, feverishly, away.
the faint mumble of my voice, repetitively, you cannot cast the sound away,
the rising, rapidly to take the past away after the landing.

comes the centre,
where both depart,

to each

separate way,

meeting, perhaps next sakura season,
that will happen,
here,
now.

a van,

a scooter.

selling teapots in a rundown street.